


Oh my god, they were quarantined

by Anonymous



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Aziraphale throws a tantrum, Corona Virus - Freeform, Crowley is trying very hard, Established Relationship, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Post-Canon, Quarantine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-19
Updated: 2020-03-19
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:22:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23220907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Aziraphale sighed loudly. Again.Crowley leaned back in his throne, lolling his head toward the angel for what must’ve been the fifth time in as many minutes. He lay prostrate on Crowley’s floor. It looked ridiculous, but the humor had worn off hours ago.“You know,” Crowley repeated hopelessly, “youcanuse a chair.”
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 54
Kudos: 237
Collections: Anonymous





	Oh my god, they were quarantined

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is in response to a prompt from [redacted] on Tumblr (take a wild guess what it was.)  
> ___________________________
> 
> hello! this is future!OP swooping in from december 2020, and i brought caveats. 
> 
> i have debated taking down this fic because it was written for a world that doesn’t exist anymore, where quarantine was presumably a short-term precaution and the COVID-19 situation in the united states was concerning but manageable. obviously things have changed since then, and i wouldn’t dream of writing a ficlet like this today. not because it’s lighthearted — i think humor is a valuable tool for addressing otherwise upsetting topics — but because joking about tragedy must be done with a lot of thought and care. and the way i approached this ficlet, while appropriate for march, hits REAL different in december. 
> 
> ultimately i decided to leave it up but anonymized for a few reasons:
> 
> 1\. people have bookmarked it, and i don’t like the idea of taking away someone’s choice to reread a story simply because it’s dated
> 
> 2\. it reflects a very particular moment in time that we will never see again. fiction is a lens through which humans make sense of the world, and a silly ficlet for tumblr dot com from early quarantine is a time capsule of sorts. things don't need to disappear just because they're not applicable to the current state of things
> 
> 3\. because it is a time capsule, i don't think it belongs among the rest of my works which are (more or less) untethered in time and a reflection of my current attitudes. i’m not concerned about someone knowing i am the author of this fic, so any identifying comments that exist will stay as-is. but i’d rather people not find this fic through my profile, because as i explained, it’s not something i would write today.
> 
> SO. all that being said, if you do choose to read this ficlet, i hope you can appreciate it as a product of its particular moment in time. thank you for your attention and understanding!

Aziraphale sighed loudly. Again.

Crowley leaned back in his throne, lolling his head toward the angel for what must’ve been the fifth time in as many minutes. He lay prostrate on Crowley’s floor. It looked ridiculous, but the humor had worn off hours ago.

“You know,” Crowley repeated hopelessly, “you _can_ use a chair.”

“No point. Just as uncomfortable.” Aziraphale’s voice, muffled as it was in his position, still sounded unmistakably miserable. “Plus, I haven’t the strength to rise.”

“And why is that,” Crowley said flatly.

Aziraphale managed a miraculous recovery then, pushing himself up from the floor to glare at Crowley properly. “I am _STARVING_ to _DEATH_. Because a _certain demon_ did not take the proper precautions-”

“I _did take-_ ”

“-and with our stock _depleted,_ the vitality is draining from my corporeal form.”

Crowley pinched the bridge of his nose. He took this opportunity to practice mindful breathing. It didn’t work. “If you had just rationed-”

“‘Rationed?’ What am I, a prisoner?! Don’t answer that.” Aziraphale stood up and huffed. “I would have _thought_ that the love of my life would show some _concern_ for my health-”

And that was quite enough.

Crowley rose from his throne, took two purposeful strides, and grabbed Aziraphale by the shoulders. “Angel,” he said slowly, “you are _fine._ You _do not need to eat to survive.”_

Aziraphale shook him off dramatically. “I don’t WANT to survive. I want to LIVE, Crowley!” 

He stormed off into the bedroom. 

Crowley watched him go, then gestured helplessly skyward. _Why?_ he asked God. She did not answer.

He took a deep breath and trod after the angel. 

“Aziraphale,” he said, slipping into the room, “Please. Work with me here.”

The angel sat grumpily on the bed, pointedly giving a book his full attention. Crowley didn't miss that his eyes were motionless on the page.

Even amidst a tantrum, the theatrics were devastatingly endearing. Crowley shook his head and sat down, gently pushing the book aside. Aziraphale let go without protest.

Then he looked up pleadingly, lip wobbling. “I’m sorry. I just can’t handle this any longer. How long as it been? Four, five weeks? Surely it’ll be over soon.”

Crowley once again put a hand on his shoulder and looked him square in the eyes. “It’s been nine days.”

Aziraphale’s face crumpled.

“But,” he continued, “think of it this way: we’ve spent thousands of years being pushed apart by forces outside our control. Isn’t it kind of nice they’re pushing us together this time?”

The angel smiled wearily. He rubbed his cheek against Crowley’s hand on his shoulder. “I suppose you’re right. Perhaps I was being… a little dramatic.”

“A _little?”_

He swatted at Crowley’s arm. “Don’t push it. Honestly, I do hate you sometimes.”

The demon gave a fond eye-roll and pulled Aziraphale close. “I love you too, angel,” he said into his neck, then gave it a series of kisses. “Guess we’ll have to find some other way to fill the time.”


End file.
